


A Meeting's End

by pitterpatterpot



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 06:04:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17074781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitterpatterpot/pseuds/pitterpatterpot
Summary: Gavriel and Aedion finally visit the grave of a person they both loved, Gavriel with a heavy heart for the woman he left and Aedion finally seeing the resting place of his mother.- KoA spoilers, AU where Gavriel spends time with Aedion





	A Meeting's End

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is actually chapter eight of my fic Lion's Pride, so if you want to see Aedion and Gavriel's relationship building and other stories involving them then check that out. I hope you enjoy!

10.

Aedion shifts away from where a man throws his guts up over the side of the deck, wincing as the smell hits his fae senses. It’s a side effect that comes with travelling on a common boat. They could have taken a ship from the Terrasen fleet, a private ship just for Aedion and Gavriel to travel on, but that would have caused to much suspicion as to where they were going. And using a private ship for such a personal matter seemed like a misuse of the countries resources.  
However, it doesn’t change the fact that travelling with a few strangers is unpleasant. Instead of sleeping in the hull Gavriel and Aedion have taken to sleeping up on deck under the stars, both under the pretence of ‘guarding’ the ship and needing their space. The humans don’t seem to mind, eyeing the two large fae males with apprehension whenever they draw near.  
But the seasickness is overwhelming.  
Trying to flee the smell, Aedion joins Gavriel where he stares over the side of the ship, admiring the rolling, blue mass of flesh that stretches out in front of them. 

“How are you feeling?” Gavriel asks, using a smile to cover his grimace at the man retching behind them.

“Fine,” Aedion leans against the railing, trying to move away from the smell.

Placing a hand on his son’s chest, Gavriel gently pushes him off the creaking wood. “Careful, the last thing we need is for you to tip overboard.”

“I can swim,” Aedion throws a rakish grin.

“I have no doubt of that,” Gavriel rolls his eyes, turning away. “How have you been lately?”

“I’m fine.”

“Every time you say ‘I’m fine’ I get the urge to jump off this ship,” Gavriel raises a brow. “And throw you in as well.” 

Aedion chokes on a laugh. “That’s dramatic.”

“You don’t just get it from your mother,” Gavriel smiles, yet it slowly melts off his lips.

Aedion’s mother. The reason they’re going to Wendlyn in the first place. It had been difficult, to make the decision to visit her grave. It was a moment of swallowing feelings as they planned the trip, as Aedion sent the letter to Galan, asking if they could stay the night in Varese before heading to the small, sea side town where she had raised Aedion for the first five years of his life. In a small house, set just a little aside from the town along the beach.

“We have plenty of money to find other accomodation if you don’t feel comfortable staying at the castle,” Gavriel offers, staring out at the horizon.

Aedion sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. “No. We’ll arrive late and leave early, so it’s unlikely we’ll run into many people.” 

~~~

In the end, they stride through the castle gates after the sun sets.  
Aedion strolls through the hallways with his signature grin. Rumours are nothing Aedion doesn’t know, hearing the whispers that trail after them as they walk through the halls. He’s had many words whispered in his presence, encompassing him in a whirlwind of secrets and insults.  
These are whispers of awe.  
And he relishes in them.  
Gavriel keeps a step behind his son, watching his aura swell to fill the space, overwhelming in its intensity. It’s the aura of a warrior, of the wolf of the north, that encompasses everyone that Aedion passes. His smirk, his strong stance, is one of a challenge and a victory.

The last time he was in this country, the last time he walked across these beautiful carpets and soaked in the warm, humid air, he was a bastard child that they were more then ready to expose of. Someone who they were fully prepared to send overseas, to rid themselves of. He was the bastard child of the woman who was like a sister to their king and his sister, Evalin. Their cousin who was so close to the two that they may as well have been three siblings instead of a brother, sister and cousin.  
But now he’s back.

A warrior in his own right, a self-made general, the youngest general in Erilea’s history to be appointed at nine-teen years old, a blood-sworn member of the court of one of the most renown queens in the world. A male that’s fought against demons besides kings, queens, princes and princesses.  
He is so much more then what they thought he was.  
He made himself something, and now he’s ready to let all those bastards know it.  
The smirk widens as Galan strides towards them, the crown heir of the country spreading his arms in welcome.“Aedion, Gavriel,” Galan smiles at the two of them, clasping arms with Aedion. “It’s good to see you two again.”

“And you,” Aedion grins, gripping his arm and bumping shoulders in return. 

They became close, thanks to the battle. Two young demi-fae princes, kin by blood, working side by side to amass their forces and push back the foe. Going through something such as war can bind two people, especially those as young and bound by past like Aedion and Galan.  
Not only that, but during his stay in Terrasen the young price, Galan, apologised for the treatment of Aedion’s mother.  
He’ so far the only member of the Ashryver family to do so. 

“You missed dinner, but I’m sure we could scrounge up something from the kitchens for you,” Galan offers, casually smiling at the two of them, Aedion smirking back and Gavriel smiling easily.

“That would be appreciated,” Gavriel dips his head.

They head down the hallway, turning the corner. And right there is the king, his hands clasped behind his back as he admires a painting on the wall, tanned skin lined and black hair beginning to gray, an older image of Galan.  
King Glaston. Evalin’s brother, and cousin to Aedion’s mother. Or more like a brother, depending on who you ask.  
All three of them stop, looking at the king. King Glaston turns to them, freezing as his gaze settles on Aedion. 

“Aedion,” he murmurs, much like his son once did, with wonder in his voice as if he is a creature that has been magically summoned. 

Aedion sneaks a glance at the painting. Three young figures smile back. King Glaston in the centre, his sister Evalin to the left, and Aedion’s mother, their cousin, on the right.

The young king stares straight at the painter, a spitting image of his son with his raven black hair and Ashryver eyes, back straight and shoulders pushed back. Clad in black and blue attire he symbolises Wendlyn, yet a small smile tugs at his mouth. It’s obvious from the spark in his eyes and that small tug of the lips that his attention isn’t on the painter whom he looks at, but rather on the females at either side of him. Such a regal position, yet the youth and joy in his face shines through. 

Evalin herself sits on a chair to her brother’s left. Her bland hair is a spark of colour, pulled back from her face by two little braids then falling in a neat waterfall. Her hands are folded over her lap, her shoulders and back also straight, yet a wider smile adorns her features as she leans towards Glaston and Aedion’s mother. It’s obvious that like her brother her attention is diverted, caught in the moment occurring with two of the people she is closest with. The stubbornness lining her muscles, her frame, are startlingly similar to the same ferocious features that create Aelin. It’s so easy to forget how similar the two are, in both spirit and physical appearances. 

Aedion’s eyes drift to the right, and land on his mother. She leans back against a piano, looking to the painter yet her body is leaning forward slightly, a clear sign that she was speaking to Glaston and Evalin. Her blond hair, much like in the sketch that Gavriel gave to Aedion, is a short golden mane that brushes her shoulders. Her Ashryver eyes spark with interest her mouth tugged up into a smile. Her clothes are still formal, wearing a black and blue dress that laces at the front, yet the skirt is shorter and her arms are bare. It’s obvious a garment that allows for free movements, her tanned skin shining golden.  
But it’s the lines she drawn in that causes her to stand out. Yes, the artist has painted her the same way he painted the others, yet just as she was in the sketch her personality, her very self, seems to be defined in broad, strong strokes. The lines that define her and strong, stubborn, shown in the broad straightness of her broad shoulders, of the way she seems fully at peace and confident where she’s positioned. Not standing to attention or sitting formally, but rather in her own relaxed position that her family no doubt attempted to remove her from.

But they couldn’t. Because, just like her son, she is drawn and defined by steel lines that never break. It becomes clear who Aedion gained his unbreakable will from. This female, this strong, formidable female, who stood against her entire royal family and every bit of shame they threw at her. Who fought her battle to protect her son until her last breath.  
There’s so much of Aedion in her that it shocks him, to look at his mother and see the same message painted across her skin that he wears like a brand. You can’t break or own me. I belong to no one but myself.

“You look,” King Glaston clears his throat, snapping Aedion to attention, “very much like your mother.”

A near mirror, to what Gavriel had once said to him. It’s become so clear now, however, that they both mean it on multiple levels.  
Gavriel stays a step behind Aedion, yet monitors him. Glaston and Galan may not be able to hear, but it’s clear to his fae hearing that his son’s heart is beating just a little faster then normal.

“King Glaston,” Aedion lowers his head, bending at the waist slightly.

Galan and Gavriel both copy his movements, the king watching. It’s strange, to look at what Galan may age to be. He’s clearly the spitting image of his father, yet the king himself has lines beginning to groove his deeply-tanned skin, his hair greying at the edges.

He holds his hands out in front of him, taking a hesitant step towards Aedion. The wolf of the north swallows, throat bobbing, as he takes in the male that is the brother to the woman that raised him, the uncle to the female who is basically Aedion’s sister, the man that was like a brother to Aedion’s mother.  
Gavriel resists the urge to step forward at the way Aedion’s heartbeat picks up once again as the man who should have been like an uncle to him instead of a hated stranger takes another step forward.

King Glaston’s hands hover in the air, as if uncertain to land on Aedion’s shoulders or to cup his face, his expression pained with longing and grief. Aedion can’t help but wonder if it’s his mother who the king is seeing. Glaston still seems uncertain as to what to do, teetering between moving forward and back.  
Aedion makes the decision for him, stepping back, hands flexing at his sides. 

Dropping his hands Glaston takes his own step back, blinking. “How long have you been in the city? Are you staying with us?”

It becomes clear to Aedion all of the sudden that the king had no idea of their arrival or visit. “We’re just staying the night.”

Is it rude to drop in for only a few hours? Galan had no qualms about it, but then again to come late in the night with plans to leave early…

“Right,” King Glaston nods, still in a daze. “Are you here with news from your cousin?”

Gavriel watches closely as Aedion’s hands curl into fists at his side. 

“No,” Aedion keeps his voice bland. “We’re visiting my mothers grave seeing as how I wasn’t permitted to be there for her ceremony.”

Not when they rushed him out of the country, barely giving an explanation before shoving him onto a boat to take him to the only family members that cared about what happened to him.

“Right,” King Glaston looks away, similar to his son. “I assume rooms have been set aside for you?”

“They wished to just stay the night, so two simple rooms have been allocated,” Galan steps in.

As per Gavriel and Aedion’s request. There’s no point in having rooms set up for them when their plan was to only stay for a few hours to gain some sleep before setting off to the small town on the coast, not too far away, where Aedion’s mother raised him. Where, for the first five years of his life, he lived in a house he can’t remember with her, yet can recall that it was on the beach, a little ways seperate from the town.  
They’ll find it. They’ll look.

“Nonsense,” King Glaston waves a hand, his kingly presence returning. “Take them to the guest rooms; they should be comfortable for the night.”

Aedion appraises the king who was known for fighting besides his men, just as Galan now does. Surely the man knows what it is like to sleep in trenches, sometimes without a tent, curling under your clothes as your only means of protection against the harsh elements. Perhaps by giving them rooms, accommodation with comfortable suitings, it’s the kings way of trying to find some compensation towards Aedion. If only he could mention to the king that soft surfaces, after years on the hard ground and bed rolls, are too soft and cause him to feel as though he is being swallowed. Of course he puts up with the lavish bed back at home for Lysandra’s sake (though it is much easier to sleep and enjoy it with her next to him. Not that he will admit that).

“I would also,” the king clears is throat, drawing attention once again, “like for you to join me for breakfast in the morning. I’d like to know what you’ve been doing.”

Aedion blinks slowly. “Well,” he drawls, “there was the war.”

The king’s wince is almost visible, same as Gavriel’s, even if Galan simply turns away with a hand over his mouth and mirth in his eyes. 

“Yes,” the king looks away, still holding back a wince. “I look forward to talking in the morning.”

With that the king turns, and walks away. After a moments pause the three of them continue walking, Gavriel lagging two steps behind Galan and Aedion. Silence stretches between them as they slowly walks up a staircase, everyone processing their meeting with the king.

“You didn’t tell your father we were coming?” Aedion finally breaks the silence. 

Galan throws his hands up. “You were only staying for a few hours so I didn’t think you’d run into him!”

“Like hell we wouldn’t!”

Gavriel casually admires the paintings as they walk.

“You could have told me your reason for coming!” Galan hisses, leaning towards him. “I thought you were here for a different reason!”

“It was a private reason!” Aedion growls back. “I wasn’t exactly going to go screaming it from the rooftops! And what did you think we were here for?”

“I don’t know! Murder?”

Aedion jerks, turning his head to stare at his cousin, aghast. “Why would you let us come if you thought we were going to commit murder? And why murder!”

“It was a guess!” Galan throws his hands in the air, scowling. “Look at your personal histories! And it was only a slight hunch!”

Gavriel sighs, smiling and reminiscing as he stares out the windows to briefly catch the sunset. The view over the city is phenomenal, the buildings and ocean reflecting the golden hues. 

“You shouldn’t have invited us even if it was just a hunch!” Aedion hisses. 

“Would that have stopped you from coming?” Galan snaps, stopping between two doors opposite each other. “Well here are your rooms! See you at breakfast!”

“Like hell I’m going to that!” Aedion hollers after his retreating figure.

“You can’t say no to royalty!”

“I say no to Aelin all the damn time and I’ll say it to you as well!”

Gavriel knows that’s a lie. At best Aedion just adds fuel to the mischievous fire. And then laughs at the havoc that commences.  
Almost like a demon.

“Well,” Aedion growls, “goodnight.”

Gavriel realises as his son opens his door that Aedion’s heart is still beating faster than normal, his knuckles white as he grips the doorknob. He follows his son through the door.  
The room is lavish, most likely a room used for when fellow royalty visits. It’s of a more western design then the rooms at Terrasen, the walls a gentle golden colour that catch the sun thanks to the giant windows lining one wall. A bed sits to the side, other pieces of furniture peppering the large space. A door stands opposite the bed, across the room, most likely leading to the bathroom. A long, cushioned window seat spreads beneath the large windows. Aedion stops in the middle of the room, spends a second to take it in, then places his head in his hands.  
Staring at his son, head in hands and shoulders slumped in such a beautiful space fin for a royal, Gavriel is struck with the sudden comparison of staring at a wild, free creature trapped in a stunning cage. 

Beautiful, but still imprisonment. Perhaps that’s what his son’s title as a royal, as a disowned member of the Ashryver bloodline, has always been.  
Gavriel crosses the room, placing a hand on Aedion’s shoulder to comfort him. His son turns, and at his bewildered expression Gavriel pulls his son into his arms, holding him firmly. 

It will take time. Time, to quell the urge to hunt down every fucking Ashryver That dared look at his son in distain.  
For now Gavriel and only comfort his son when he tired of standing tall. And act that gives him great honour.  
It’s worth it every time.

~~~

Sunshine is what wakes Aedion, his eyes peeling open as he turns his head to stare out the window, the ocean shimmering past the city.  
The window seat. A much better option to sleep on besides the bed, where he could easily stare out at the night time city or simply look up at the stars. Better then feeling trapped under a roof while being swallowed whole by soft blankets that grate against his coarse skin, reminding him of a time where a bed was as much of an imprisonment as a cage. The look up at the sky gives a sense of freedom in this palace that itches at the corners of his memories, thank the gods.  
No, fuck the gods after the hell those monsters put them through.

Sighing, Aedion slowly rolls off the seat to stand, stretching his arms easily above his head. He strolls over to the bathroom, wiping sleep from his eyes as he opens the door.  
And is met by a large, extravagant bathroom. The shelves are carved into the walls instead of jutting our, a large mirror and bench against one wall. The bath sunken into the round resembles a small pool more then anything, the water already steaming.  
He shuts the door and turns around.

Only to step outside of the room to be met by Gavriel, who shakes the last few drops of water form his hair, cleaning dressed and presented.  
Aedion blinks at his father, and Gavriel blinks back, as immaculate as ever. 

“Gods damn it,” Aedion growls, and storms back into his room.

~~~

“You didn’t need to bathe just because I did,” Gavriel grins, watching his son button up his colour, leaving two undone. 

“Yes,” Aedion glowers, “I did. Let’s get this over with.”

“Aedion, it’s breakfast.”

“Don’t use food to try to make this better.”

~~~

The clock ticks.  
Loud and clear, the hands move with the passage of time. The large dining room is empty, besides the four males that sit at the table. King Glaston sits at the head, with Galan to his side. the chair opposite Galan is empty, his mother preoccupied. Aedion sits next to the empty chair, Gavriel next to him. A wonderful spread of food has been laid out. Hot, flat morning cakes presented, bowls of fruit, fresh water with ice in large pitchers. Assortments of honey and jams sit, sprawled between the dishes and males.  
Aedion, having almost no appetite, simply moves the food around on the plate, staring at the little arrangements he makes. Galan for the most part tries his best, picking at pieces of food, eating as he stares out the window. King Glaston himself shows discomfort, steadily eating the food, yet more robotically, as though going by muscle memory more then anything. Gavriel as always sits upright and proper, yet like his son focused on his plate as he uses a knife and fork to cut up his food, golden eyes absent from the present.

“So, Aedion.”

Galan inhales sharply, immediately bending over to hack up a grape. Aedion slips forward, his fork screeching on the plate as his head snaps up to stare wide-eyed at the king. Even Gavriel straightens, slapping a hand on the table while blinking, looking around the room before relaxing again.  
King Glaston winces at the visible shock his words caused in the midst of the silence. 

“I- yes?” Aedion clears his throat, placing the fork down flat and sitting straighter.

“Well,” the king hesitated, clearly searching for words. “How is Aelin?”

“She’s well,” Aedion’s eyes dart away, and Gavriel winces at the rise in his sons heartbeat.

“Good,” King Glaston nods, eyes also sliding away. “We were worried about her state. The way must have been hard on her.”

Gavriel doesn’t miss the way Aedion’s hand curls by his side.

“The war was hard on all of us,” Aedion smoothly answers, voice in control.

The voice of the liar, trickster, deceiver. The voice used to hide all emotions, to conceal hidden plans.  
A voice that was once used for a different king.

“I’m sure it was,” the king softly amends, looking at the table.

No, not at the table. At the hand Aedion still has spread over his fork, his fingers appearing fine despite the fact that they are crooked in some places. From a distance, they look fine. Up close, they are obviously healed from breaks.

Noticing the stare, Aedion clenches and unclenches his fist, smirking down at the digits. “Each one was broken in two places.”

Almost everyone winces.

“That must have been painful,” the king clears his throat.

It’s too good of an opening to pass out on. “It was, but it isn’t the worst thing I’ve had done to me.” 

Gavriel has to hold back from quickly sucking a breath deep down his throat, his heart jolting at the words. It will be a while before the remembrance of how his son suffered as a child will stop stuttering his heart. If it will ever stop. 

“Right,” King Glaston swallows thickly. “I am sorry, Aedion, that you had to suffer through that.”

“So am I,” Aedion’s look turn unimpressed. “Especially since no aid was sent, and none of our lovely relatives thought to ask for me.”

Both Galan and the king tense, Galan’s eyes looking at Aedion with desperation, the king looking away.  
Gavriel’s spoken to Aedion of this. He doesn’t blame his cousin; not when Galan was as young as he was when the war broke out. Not when his cousin was also a child when Aedion was sent away. There was little he could have done, and when he was old enough to send aid he did.  
But the king, on the other hand.  
The king could have used his power to do something. Anything. Any of Aedion’s older relatives could have vouched for him to be removed from the war.  
It’s difficult for Gavriel to swallow down his own anger. Especially when he himself was absent, so far away on an opposite corner of the world that he had never even heard his son’s name. 

“Thank you for the meal,” Aedion says after a few more minutes of silence, pushing his chair back.

“Aedion, wait,” the king also stands, Galan and Gavriel sharing concerned looks from where they are seated. “We should talk.”

Aedion rests his eyes upon the king, and waits.

“Alone,” King Glaston mutters.

Everyone can nearly see the bristles that rise on Aedion, yet he simply grins, that dangerous whirlwind aura of his swirling through the room. “Alright. That should be fun.”

King Glaston stands and leads the way, Aedion lazily following. The door clicks shut behind them.

“I really hope this doesn’t end in murder,” Galan mourns lowly, placing his head in his hands.

“If it helps, that wasn’t our original intention,” Gavriel shrugs helplessly. “Neither was this breakfast.”

“That doesn’t help. And you don’t need to try to use food to make this better.”

Gavriel sits back in his seat. Ashryver’s. The similarities can be startling.

~~~

“I really was surprised to see you here,” King Glaston leans against a desk, allowing Aedion to stand by the closed door of the office. “Especially with Gavriel. I see that the rumours are true.”

“Right,” Aedion crosses his arms, keeping his composure relaxed. “Did you have any idea that he was my father?”

King Glaston responds after a minute. “No. If I had, I would have…”

“What?” Aedion snorts. “Appraised my mother instead of kicking her out?”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” King Glaston very nearly growls, leaning forward. “I wasn’t happy with your mothers predicament, but it’s also something she had chosen for herself. She could have stayed.”

“And let me be sold to Meave?” Aedion levels a look, voice low. “And faced ridicule all throughout her pregnancy? Be shamed by her own family at every which turn?”

“It was never that simple!” King Glaston’s voice nearly takes on a begging tone. “What was everyone supposed to think when a princess of Wendlyn announces that she’s pregnant and won’t give a damn clue as to who the father was?”

“She told Evalin!”

“Only when she had to!” King Glaston snaps, standing straight. “She never told me!”

Aedion falls quiet, appraising the king. “Were you as close to her as Evalin was?”

“She was like a sister to me.”

“I see,” Aedion’s voice takes on a quiet, hushed tone. “But Evalin was your sister, and you never did a damn thing to help her country in a time of war. To help me.”

“Aedion, please,” Glaston’s voice weakens as he rubs at his eyes. “The politics were difficult. Terrasen had fallen, we believed Aelin to be dead, and by the time we were informed about you Adarlan had already started introducing you into their camps. What were supposed to do with a prince raised in a foreign county and captured by an enemy land?”

“Do you even understand,” a growl rises in Aedion’s voice, “how difficult it is to situate yourself in a country you are not native to? How many times I had to listen to the lords of both Terrasen and Adarlan sneer in my face that I was a foreigner unworthy of my titles because of it? And now you’re saying, what, that I will never have a cemented place in the country I am native to? That I am to be stuck, never belonging properly to a any country thanks to my childhood that was torn thanks to forces out of my control?”

“I’m sorry, Aedion,” King Glaston takes a remorseful approach, sagging against the desk. “It’s unfortunate, I know.”

“So many things in my life could have been avoided,” Aedion doesn’t bother keeping the tremble from his voice, unsure if it is from rage or sorrow, “if it wasn’t for the bastards that plagued me. That gripped my fate in their hands and chose my future without giving me a say. Maybe if you had all loved her, supported her and trusted her, had made her feel that you would have protected us from Meave, then none of it would have happened.”

Aedion stalks a few steps closer, staring the king in the eyes. “But it’s a damn good think it did, because Terrasen would have been fucked if it wasn’t for me, and I wouldn’t have had the chance to prove every single damn bastard wrong. To smash glass palaces form the inside, to rally armies and legions that had been slain in the snow, to stand while wrapped in chains. So you all just remember who’s son I am when they speak of me in legends. And I don’t just mean Gavriel’s.” 

With that he turns, soundly closing the door behind him, leaving Glaston with his head in his hands.

~~~

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Galan asks, blowing out a breath. “Even just in the city-“

“It was good to see you again,” Aedion smiles, clasping hands with his cousin, but we do need to go.”

“I understand,” Galan nods, the sun shining down from where they stand at the edge of the city.”

The farewells are sparse, Aedion and Gavriel setting off. The small town is just a little further down the coast. Gavriel keeps a close eye on Aedion for the most part. What kind of struggle must it have been to so bluntly speak with an unfamiliar family member? The very fact that Aedion has yet to utter a word of it is cause for concern. Where is the rage? The yelling? This silence doesn’t sit well. Not as they stroll down the road, Aedion throwing off his jacket to leave himself simply in his shirt, the first real thing he’s done since they’ve started.  
Would it be a good idea to push? Or should he simply wait for Aedion to release information on the ordeal himself? Most likely the later, considering past experiences.  
But things such as this can be difficult.  
So damn difficult.  
So Gavriel leaves it.

~~~

It takes another hour before Aedion freely talks once again, joy seeping into his tone as he takes in the humid air and admired the flora and fauna Gavriel points out. As he strolls along the sea side, glad for the costal trek they’ve chosen, even going as far as to take his shoes off to walk through the water.  
So much warmer compared to the waters of Terrasen, which can kill in an instant. Even if the Wendlyn locals keep insisting that it’s currently much more ‘cold’ then usual.

“How do you stand the humidity?” Audio nearly growls at one point, wiping sweat rom his brow.

“You get used to it,” Gavriel chuckles dryly. “At least you know now how different the temperature here is from Terrasen.”

“No wonder you old bastards get cold all the time,” Aedion seethes, popping free two more buttons of his shirt, resisting the urge to shield his eyes from the sun. “Gods, it’s late in the afternoon. How is the sun still this strong?”

“This is the most I’ve ever heard you complain about something,” Gavriel tries to fight back his smile, failing desperately. 

“Because I hate this sun,” Aedion growls, eyes narrowed. 

“Hate is such a strong word,” Gavriel shakes his head, feigning disappointment. 

“It’s a giant flaming orb in the sky that burns my skin and eyes,” Aedion glares. “I’m allowed to say I hate it.”

“Fair enough,” Gavriel chuckles, then quietens. “We’ll reach the town in a few hours. Are you sure you would like to find the house right away? We could find a place to stay for the night and wait until the morning.”

Aedion looks down. “I want to see her as soon as possible.”

“I understand,” Gavriel nods.

“Did you ever visit her?” Aedion’s voice reaches a quiet point, turning husky as he looks away.

Gavriel tries to rein in the guilt rearing in his chest. “I never thought I had a right to. Not after she asked me to leave.”

“Right,” Aedion swallows, staring at the town that’s slowly coming into view. “I don’t...”

Gavriel stops, placing his hand on Aedion’s shoulder to urge him to do the same. “Aedion?”

“I don’t remember this place,” Aedion’s voice grated harshly, looking out at the water.

Something in Gavriel’s chest cleaves at the way guilt laces his son’s words, as if his forgetting is the gravest of crimes. cracks. As if he should be punished for not remembering a place he hasn’t visited in nineteen years, that he was ripped away from against his will.  
How much did his son cry, alone on that boat as a small child heading to Terrasen?

“Maybe you’ll remember some things once you return,” Gavriel resists wrapping his arm around Aedion’s shoulder, easily identifying the strain lining his body. 

“Maybe,” Aedion stares along the shore. “It’s somewhere along here. It was so close to the city, to them, but they still never realised.”

“Sometimes it’s not the physical distance,” Gavriel’s voice drops, his baritone soft. 

“Right,” Aedion keeps his gaze on the horizon. “Right.”

~~~

It’s a small square house, only one level, sitting right where the grass begins to grow in the sand. Its white walls are rimmed by the brown wood, a window next to the door looking out at the beach that’s only a few meters away, the waves serenading the area.  
Aedion and Gavriel stand just a meter away from the small house, looking at it with trepidation and awe as the sun begins to set. Gavriel looks over to his son, and is immediately startled by the clear terror written across Aedion’s face, his son’s complexion pale as he stares at the house.

“Aedion-“

“This is where she died. She’s buried in the garden at the back. I- I used to help pick the tomatoes we grew.”

Old memories, resurfacing like the tide washing over the sand. Gavriel watches as Aedion walks towards the house, steps robotic, and ducks inside. Sticking close to his son, Gavriel takes in the bare minimum of furniture in the room. Two dusty, deteriorating bed rolls pressed together, a paper divider separating it from the side of the room that contains a sink and toilet. A door leads out to the back garden. 

Such a small space, but all that was needed for a mother and her small child hiding from a dark queen.

A quiet, peaceful place. Aedion stares at the bedroll, and ducks down, pushing the frayed pillow to the side. Underneath it a black cord sits, an obsidian stone with white dots attached to it. A snowflake obsidian, a necklace he suddenly vividly remembers sitting on his mother’s chest. Swallowing, Aedion fiddles with the small clasp, reaching behind his neck to adorn the simple piece of jewellery. The stone sits just below the hollow of his throat, able to be hidden by his shirt or jacket if needed. 

Aedion leaves it viewable.

Gavriel doesn’t say a word, watching as his son aimlessly stands in the centre of the room, staring at everything with a glazed look. Gavriel notices that one of his hands is wrapped around the snowflake obsidian, dwarfing the small, smooth stone. 

So much like the stones that were used to enslave thousands. Yet so different, with it’s white dots breaking apart the darkness. Gavriel can’t help but wonder if it’s the universes idea of a cruel joke, guiding his son towards the stone his mother owned. A stone that looks so much like a Valg stone, only to be broken by pin pricks of light. Much like his mother, who was chased by darkness yet made her own illumination. 

“Aedion,” Gavriel says his son’s name, still standing in the doorway.

He doesn’t say it to catch his son’s attention. No, he says it to feel the name on his tongue, to clearly pronounce each letter. To exercise the beautiful gift that the woman who once lived in this house have him.  
He knows why she didn’t tell him. He knows that she may not have even known when she sent him away. He knows that everything she did in her short life was to keep their son alive, to give him a chance to bring new actions into this world. To affect it in the only way he can, to become a new variable created solely by them.  
And Aedion has done more and above. What would the Ashryver family had done if they knew that Gavriel’s son would be one to help defeat Valg kings and princes? To help end decade long wars?

“The garden,” Aedion jerks around to look at the back door, ambling through it.

Gavriel trails him without a second thought. There’s nothing else in the small space anyway.

It’s so heartbreakingly empty.

But there are signs the garden was once well cared for. Some spikes that were once driven into the ground still stand, crumbling under the weight of growing vines. Weeds spread along the ground, and it’s nearly impossible to tell where the patches of small crops once were if not for the filing apart pieces of wood. Nineteen years has let the garden overgrow in an explosion of green, engulfing the small garden patches into an overall sea of leaves.

“She,” Aedion laughs through his tears, choking for a moment, “I think she would have liked this. Would have liked the fact that it all kept growing.”

Gavriel nods, taking in the flourishing flora. “I think she would have to.”

“She’s up here,” Aedion’s voice is quiet in the dying sunlight.

Gavriel follows his son up the small sand dune, firm thanks to the grass and plants splitting through the groans of sand. It leads into the first behind the house, the trees thinned out and thickening the deeper they delve. Aedion stops, nearly causing Gavriel to walk into him, at the opening of a clearing.

They can so clearly hear the ocean behind them, and a stream off in the distance. With the sun finally setting the fireflies come out, dabbling across the sky in whizzing bursts. The headstone stands in the centre of the clearing, a few weeds and flowers growing around it thanks to being neglected.

Yet it is clean, no doubt checked on from the time to time. No doubt by Aedion’s other Ashryver relatives, who knew where she was. 

Aedion doesn’t move, staring at the headstone, shoulders trembling with his tears as he jerks with every held back sob.

“It was all my fault,” Aedion whispers, staring at the grass. “If she never had me she could have gone to the healers. She wouldn’t have become so sick so fast.”

“Aedion,” Gavriel wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Aedion, it reads ‘loving mother.’ Even if she never had you she would have fallen ill, and the healers may have been able to do nothing. But she wouldn’t have that title if you never happened.”

He feels his son’s body shudder as he reads the words elegantly engraved in his mother’s stone, just below her name. They walk towards it, Aedion kneeling to speak.

He speaks of his life. Of the horrors and miracles, of the lovers and the haters, of all the times he has been marked a sinner and a saint. The words spill free from his lips as he buries his fingers into the grass, tugging gently as the words tumble forward as if to keep himself grounded. Gavriel kneels next to his son, listening to every word that Aedion unleashes. 

They share their story together when they talk of their first meeting, both Aedion and Gavriel laughing slightly when the Lion admits to how utterly terrified he was. The last battle is hard to speak of, Aedion unable to say how Gavriel had nearly died, the words choking in his throat. So Gavriel does it for him. 

They speak of their friends and allies, of Aelin, of Lysandra and Rowan and Evangeline and Kyllian and everyone else. So many years poured out towards the woman who have always been watching from the stars. 

Gavriel takes Aedion back inside after their words have run out. He knows that they should find an inn, that they should walk into the town he can hear just a little further down the beach, but his son is utterly exhausted. Not physically, no, the journey was nothing to them. But speaking until the stars were spread above their head like a blanket, the sun far away from their side of the earth.  
Aedion doesn’t sleep near the bedrolls, looking near sick at the idea of resting in the place he once did as a child. Instead he curls up against the wall near the door to the gardens, his look making it clear he’d rather be sleeping under the sky, yet he relents. 

“I think I used to have a toy lion,” Aedion mentions, voice thick with sleep, his head resting on his folded up jacket. 

“Really?” Gavriel looks from where he leans against the wall, one leg propped up with his arm resting upon it.

“Yes,” Aedion’s eyes drift closed. “She gave it to me. Maybe as some kind of joke.”

“I don’t think it was a joke,” Gavriel says softly.

When receiving no reply he finally realises that his son is asleep. Standing, Gavriel silently exits to the garden, leaving the door open slightly to allow the fresh night air to seep in easier. The moon glows down as he walks back to the grave, kneeling in front of the woman he loved with his head bowed. Shame and love quarrel inside of him as he finally does what he has never been allowed to do before.

He thanks her. He thanks her for gifting him with something all fae struggle to have. The odds of Aedion being born of two people with fae blood, who spent so little time together in that sense, is miraculous. He thanks her for protecting him, for giving them time.

It will never be enough, not until he can sweep her into his arms and dress across the stars with her. 

But for now it will have to do. 

He’ll enjoy the gift he has been given, will enjoy every second of it, before moving on. 

And he intends to make the most of it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a slightly shorter chapter. If you want more feels look at Lion's Pride and some of my other Throne fics! I hope you guys enjoyed! Feedback and comments appreciated!


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